William Shakespeare

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude:
Thy read more

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude:
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.

But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told,
read more

But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told,
And in the last repeating troublesome,
Being urged at a time unreasonable.

To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be; it is impossible:
Mirth cannot read more

To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be; it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

I will be gone,
That pitiful rumor may report my flight
To consolate thine ear.

I will be gone,
That pitiful rumor may report my flight
To consolate thine ear.

And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It read more

And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act ii. Sc. 1.